A hazardous tool. A place for the gathering of fools. Working on television reviews. Everyone is breaking the rules.
In the world of writing, writing is writing. Righting? Oh that thing. Make it happen like it was a night thing. When the bee flies past you, wave your hand for that flavorful sting. When the bell will ring. Where did they put their king?
In their hives there is commotion. Also, devotion. Just sit there and watch the motion. It is as if drinking a potion.
Honey. Honey? Sweeter than a rabbit bunny? Or what of a rabid bunny? No, no, no. Sweeter than all of the money.
So they write. Their lives resemble blight. It is a struggle to keep on the light. So they fight. For the sword cannot match the pen in might. And for sure, there is no better way to provide sight.
When they read do they feed? Indeed. But it all depends on the screed. They can never however hope to lead. But without them there is no seed. Even if there is no good in their deed.
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